Tears of an Angel
by Crowdreamer
Summary: Set in early to mid-season 9, Castiel has lost his grace and explores what it's like to be human, especially pain and tears. And love. Sorry for the mix-up on chapter 3, I fixed it.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Notes:**_ _My first "Supernatural" fic. I love Castiel, so of course I had to make it about everyone's favorite angel. The setting is Season 9, the first half. AU. Spoilers:"Heaven Can't Wait", much of Season 9, and Season 4. Enjoy!_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter One

Part 1.

Angels don't cry. It's a fact. I've said it a thousand times, but it's true. We don't have the physical ability to drop tears the way you do, which is why it came as such a shock to me the first time. It's an odd feeling, crying. Hard to get used to, kind of like sneezing, or—or defecating. Very uncomfortable.

I didn't cry at first, not at all. Not when I first dropped out of heaven and realized I lost all my angelic abilities. Not even when I was homeless and wandered the streets in search of food. I think I might have felt a few tears welling up when I sat in the cold rain, not knowing where to go for help—until the reaper took me in and gave me my other first experience—sex.

But I digress.

But the story has to wander a little to get to my point, so let me "set the stage", as you people say. This particular part of my story begins when I was trying to adjust to losing my grace to Metatron. I did that by assimilating into human culture. I took a job, kept my nose down, tried to make an honest living. At least until I could figure out what to do next.

And something unexpected happened. I fell in love. Sure, at first I was just baby-sitting for Nora. But her dates never worked out, and one night she stopped me before I walked out the door.

"Steve, I need to talk to you," she said. That was the name I was using—Steve. It helped me blend in. She placed a hand on my arm, and chills ran up into my chest. I wondered if I was getting sick, but probably not, because it felt utterly wonderful. And then I recognized the sensation from when I experienced a muted version of it with the reaper. Now it was Nora sending tingles surging through my body. Under her front porchlight, she said, "I keep going on all these dates lately, a different guy every week."

She paused. I never could get the hang of human conversation. Sometimes pauses mean you're supposed to speak next, sometimes they just mean the communicator is hesitant to say what they want to say. Angels are easier—we usually don't hide our meanings behind awkward silent gaps. But this one was longer than usual, so I spoke, if only to fill in the spaces. "Yeah. You have been dating a lot. You must like…guys."

She lowered her eyebrows, and I kept mine in their usual lowered position. Humans are confusing.

"No, Steve—I mean—yeah, I do like men, but what I mean to say is—" She shook her head. "I keep going out with these guys, looking for the perfect man. But while I'm out there, I keep thinking of…you."

I considered the statement and all its potential meanings. "You have no reason to worry. Your daughter is safe in my hands."

She took a step closer to me. I hadn't realized there was any space to move closer. "That's not what I mean either, Steve. You're right, you're really good with her. That's exactly it. You accept that I have a kid, and you're kind, and hard-working and patient, and…I keep wondering why I'm looking for someone else, when the right person is in front of me."

The chills intensified and spread to my head, and then my lower regions. "Nora, I…I like you too."

That was all it took. She made her move, and I gave the proper response by kissing her back. If there's one thing I love about being human, it's the feelings in my body when being intimate with another person.

But this was different. I noticed there was something even deeper than the physical tingles spreading throughout my body as she touched me to gently remove my clothes and her physical flesh made contact my nakedness. God, why did people even wear clothes when going without was so much more pleasurable? I suppose it has something to do with the whole Adam and Eve thing…

But I was sensing something extra. The best way to describe it is a feeling of oxytocin hitting every nerve receptor in my brain, soothing it with an ecstasy-like high…in a word, love.

That night, we didn't just have sex. Sure, we explored one another's bodies, gave each other waves of bliss. But there was more to it—a connection there that I had never felt with another person. The closest comparison I can make is eating chocolate.

I slept in her bed that night, and stayed every night after that for weeks on end. I imagine this is how people feel when they actually die and go to heaven, instead of being born into it. We formed a bond that I thought could never be broken, and suddenly, I didn't care what happened to the rest of the world or all the angels fallen from heaven. All that mattered was the beautiful soul who possessed the same house as me and stole my heart.

That's why I cried my first tears when she was so violently ripped out of my life.

Part 2.

I was working one day. The sun was shining along with my mood. I even whistled a tune with the radio—something about being "locked out of Heaven," I believe.

A man walked in, and since my angel senses were off, I couldn't tell at first what he was. He just looked like a regular guy—tall, long hair, kind of like Sam only with bushy facial hair and a much harder stare. He saw me behind the counter and gave a long, harsh look at me.

"Can I help you?" I was always polite when I worked.

The guy put his head down and pretended to look at candy bars. His work boots turned in my direction, and then his head popped up, and the hairs stood up on my arms. I felt like running, but still wasn't sure why. Was this a hold-up? I had heard of those. Instinctively, I put one hand on the gun under the counter, just in case.

The man shook a finger at me. "No, I remember." He gritted his teeth. "You're Castiel."

There was nobody else in the store, except Nora, who was in the back room balancing the books. Without hesitating, I pulled the gun and aimed it at him. "Who's asking?"

"I'm not asking." And in an instant, the demon locked the front door with his mind and threw me against the wall with a flick of his wrist. His eyes turned as black as his soul.

Nora must have heard the commotion because she rushed out from the back. "Nora! Run!" All I could do was warn her, I had no powers and was unable to move.

But she needed a second to figure out what was happening. "Steve!" she screamed, and in that moment, the demon flicked his other hand and pinned Nora against the other wall.

"Is that what he's calling himself these days?"

"You leave her alone!"

The demon clenched his jaw. "Or you'll what? Looks like you're a little short on angel juice right now." Keeping us both in mid-air, he took several strides toward me. "I know you don't know me, but I know you. You killed my brother."

Nora's high-pitched, shaky voice rang out from across the room. "Steve, what's he talking about? How is he—?"

"Shut up, bitch!" He turned his attention to her, and I blinked hard. His voice grew smarmy, and it made me feel like throwing up, another unpleasant human phenomenon. "I think she likes you. What is she, your little playmate, Castiel?"

I grew desperate. She was completely at his mercy, and I was helpless to do anything about it. "Please don't hurt her."

"Ah, I'm just playing around a little. Just like you did with my brother." He stabbed an overly-long nail into her chest and dragged it down between her breasts, drawing howls out of her. I grimaced as if I was the one being tortured. The demon kept talking. "I could use her as a toy, or I could just put her out of her misery now. Which would you prefer, angel?"

But he didn't give me a chance to answer. Instead, he pointed all the fingers on one hand in a bunch and shoved them deep into her belly. She screamed in pain. "You snooze you lose. I went ahead and made a decision for you."

"No," I whispered, wishing I had Sam's social skills at the moment so I could negotiate an escape. But panic choked my mind, and the only thing I could think to say was, "Just let her go. It's me you want."

He glared at me. "What I _want_ is my brother back, but that's never going to happen, thanks to you." Then, right as I was about to offer him a false deal, he punched right through her heart. She slumped over. "So I'm going to watch you suffer for what you did."

And that's when it started. My eyes hurt, and I thought they might explode. My chest nearly burst open and spilled its contents all over the floor. Something wet fell down my cheeks, and at first I thought it was sweat. And then I realized— _This is what it means to cry_.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Two

Part 1. Castiel

The tears ended when the demon punched me hard in the temple, knocking me out. When I awoke, I was somewhere else, a dark place, probably a basement somewhere. My hands were in handcuffs meant to hold angels, complete overkill in my weakened human state, but no demons needed to know that.

There was laughter and great mirth behind me. The demon who had killed the love of my life and angel-napped me emerged into my line of view. "Nice meat suit, dude."

There were more demons behind me, I estimated two by the sound of their voices. I didn't care that they were laughing at me, and at the time I was oblivious to the fact that their teasingz was due to the work uniform I still wore. My vision was blurry and my head hung low, probably as much from the grief as the blow to my head.

A part of me wished they would just kill me quickly so I could join my Nora in heaven. I knew she'd be there. But I also knew the demons wouldn't spare me that easily.

The demon lifted my head. "My name's Amon. I doubt you'd remember my brother, since he meant so little to you. About a year ago, we found the body he possessed, tortured and killed. I later found out it was you who did it."

I didn't care, but I answered reflexively. "Yes, the demon who took over Wendy. I remember now. I didn't mean to be so violent, I was programmed by the home office."

Amon slammed his fist into my face. I'm not going to lie, it hurt. But I was so numb that I only let loose a small grunt.

Then he pummeled my body with demonic hands as he said, "What am I going to do with you? Beat you to death?" He stopped. I panted. "No, I don't think that would be satisfying enough."

Amon circled me. "You see, my brother and I died together. We went through the trials of Hell together, got tortured together. Then we worked our way up to demons by torturing others together. If it wasn't for him, I might never have made it. I'd still be down there."

I raised my weary head just long enough to say, "I didn't know demons could be sentimental."

He laughed. "Apparently you've never met Crowley. He has his…pets." He continued to circle me, then halted. "Wait. I have the perfect idea."

Standing before me, he whipped out a knife. I braced myself for the worst, but instead of carving up my flesh, he cut a slit into his own arm, until it dripped with blood. Looking at one of the demons behind me, he said, "Hold his head back."

A hand yanked my head back by a tuft of my hair from behind. Amon glanced at the other demon. "Open his mouth."

I sat up straight now, realizing what he was trying to do. "No!"

But against my tensed muscles, the demon hands pried my jaws apart like they were nothing at all. And then Amon dripped his blood into my mouth, and stroked my throat until I was forced to swallow.

Once he was content that I had taken in enough blood, he let my head go, and I sputtered, "What have you done?"

The demon's blood surged through my veins, and I could feel myself light up red as it spread throughout my body. And then I was more than human again, in a different way, of course.

The demons cackled with glee. "Look! The angel's a demon now."

But they had no idea the true effects of their actions. I spit remnants of blood mixed with saliva in Amon's face, and he tried to strike me. But he hadn't anticipated that the demon blood I swallowed would give me a newfound power and allow me to bust through the angel handcuffs. I yanked my arm away from the chair just in time to block his blow. And then I struck him with an undercut from my free hand.

Moving like an animal, I stood and grabbed his knife and shoved it into his chest, lighting him up until he was gone. Then I spun on my heels and stabbed the other two demons before they even knew what hit them. And for some reason that I couldn't figure out at the time, it felt good. Like really good—like sex and chocolate good. That fact was troubling.

Over the next several weeks, I went on a…a spree of sorts. As hungry as I was to exact revenge on every demon I had ever met, and some I never had, I was even more hungry for their blood. It wasn't just that it gave me the power I missed having once I lost my angel-hood. No, it had more to do with the fact that the high wiped out the emotional pain I had when Nora was taken from me, ripped from my hands at the peak of our love addiction. I didn't forget about her—how could I? But I no longer felt as if my heart was being ripped from my chest, and that was a blessing.

I would pay for that delay of grief later, in a big way.

After I would rip an unsuspecting demon to bits so I could feast on his valuable juices, I would no longer feel like eating or sleeping or emoting or doing anything remotely human. I knew it was eating at my soul. Demon blood and angel bodies don't mix well, there would surely be consequences.

Part 2. Dean

I worried about Sam the most, of course. He had no idea an angel had hitchhiked a ride in his body. But he needed some angel juice inside him to heal again, and so I swallowed my guilt and kept the secret from him.

But as much as I worried about him, I worried about Cass too. Especially since I caught wind of a slaughter to rival one of Charles Manson's in the store where he worked. And then, when I went to check it out, he was just gone with the wind, and I feared the worst.

We did our tracking, and between asking Sam how he was feeling every five minutes, I managed to catch a lead. There were no signs pointing directly to Cass, of course—he didn't leave behind any feathers or halo dust.

But my spidey senses went off in a big way, and Sam confirmed it. In the basement of an abandoned insane asylum, we stood in our suits and flashed our badges. Our usual routine. And then we looked for signs of our angel friend.

There were handcuffs, and there were three demon bodies that looked like they had been offed by other demons, and I knew Cass have been there. But why did it look like demons had finished the job? Had Crowley saved Cass? And why?

Over the next few weeks, we tracked down unusual activity, but it was always demon related. As in, dead demons, always mutilated in various ways. Some of them were ripped to shreds. This couldn't be the work of Cass—even assuming he would do such a thing, he didn't have the mojo.

We found a town that had a history of demons. Place was crawling. Every one of them was a doorknob before we got our hands on them. Lucky for them, but not so lucky for two guys looking for their celestial besty.

One night we got called by the sheriff out to a warehouse that was littered with the things. Somebody was obviously doing our job for us, and it wasn't another hunter. Or an angel. We came back later that night after the badges had abandoned the job. They had left the mess behind, until tomorrow. Short-staffed or some shit.

We went from one body to another, scattered throughout the place. We decided to split up to make the job faster—there was a lot to cover. I wandered into a break room that was torn apart. I mean, blood coating the walls like someone had painted the room with it. There was a body on the floor, something moving on top of it. And then I saw something I would never have believed if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.

Castiel was leaning over the dead demon, sucking down blood from a gaping wound like he was a damn vampire or something. Had he been turned? Impossible.

He straightened, probably caught my scent before I even entered the room. Without turning his head, he spoke in a voice even lower and coarser than usual. "Dean, don't even try to stop me."

I unsheathed my angel knife, regardless. Couldn't be too cautious, even with a divine BFF, when he was in this kind of state. "Cass," I said gently, to let him know I wasn't trying to threaten him. "What happened to you?"

He stood, looking down at his kill longingly. And then he slowly turned, and I knew something was really wrong, besides the obvious. Sam must have heard our voices, because I now felt him breathing behind me. I was glad to have back-up. Cass was messed up, that was for sure.

I studied him from head to foot. At least he'd found a coat like his old one—he was now back to his good ol' Columbo costume. But he was covered from top to bottom in blood, and his eyes—well, let's just say he could have passed for one of Satan's minions himself with the hatred that spilled out of them. I was starting to wonder if I needed the demon blade instead.

His voice husky and low through clenched teeth, he said, "Just step out of my way, guys, and everything will be fine."

Sam, beside me now, whispered, "Demon blood. Remember how bad it fucked me up?"

So with both hands out in front of me, one holding the angel blade and the other open, I said, "Cass, let's just talk about this. I know you're on a blood binge, but maybe we could just go back to HQ, get a cup of coffee, sober up a little, huh?"

The guy literally growled at me. Like a dog. Or that really vicious werewolf I ganked outside Cincinnati a few weeks ago. He bellowed, "I said, BACK OFF!" The words roared so loud that I nearly fell over backwards.

When neither me or Sam moved, Cass leapt off the spot where he was standing next to the dead demon and onto me, sending a punch to my face mid-air that brought me to the ground. And I guess Sam must have hesitated, because he was soon on the floor with me. I don't blame him for holding back and getting jumped. This was Cass we were talking about, not just some asshat.

But there must have been some angel blood still left inside Cass, because that was the extent of the damage to us, and then he was in the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Three

Castiel

Little did the boys know how much restraint it took for me to avoid ripping their heads off. I was gone—sauced, high as a kite off the good stuff. I had no conscience in the moment they discovered me at my weakest, although I must have had some humanity left inside me, because they're still alive.

After I took off, I caught a glimpse of myself in a puddle. I didn't recognize what I saw—hair disheveled, blood down the front of me, wild desperation in my eyes. No wonder the boys had stared at me like I was one of the monsters they hunted. I decided I needed to clean up so I wouldn't draw attention.

I stole a new shirt, ducked into a gas station bathroom, and cleaned myself up in the sink. I still had sunken eyes, but at least I didn't look like I had just eaten Dracula.

I headed out the door in search of a new demon to suck dry, but I didn't get very far. I smelled one in the air, and followed the scent to an old grainery. Before I could enter to feast, a figure stepped out of the shadows, his scent so strong I could barely breathe. Repulsive. An angel.

"Castiel, I'm Raziel. Bartholomew wants to talk to you. Come with us?"

I wasn't sure if it was a question or a demand, but I was in no mood for politics. I started toward him so I could shove him out of my way. But I didn't get more than a few steps before flames lit up in front of me and a force stopped me in my tracks. A sigil trap.

Needless to say, I was pissed. "Let me go. Now!"

Despite my booming voice, the angel stood solid, and others joined him. "We had a feeling you'd resist, so we needed to lure you in. Sorry for denying you your fix."

He didn't sound very sorry. Another angel dragged the dead demon—my bait—just out my reach, a cruel taunt. I licked my lips.

Raziel continued. "And now that we have you, we need to take you in for questioning."

"No!"

But before I could protest further, an angel snuck up close enough to me to get angel handcuffs on me. As I was laughing silently at their mistake—after all, I had escaped this type of restraint with the demon—they put on a second pair, demon cuffs this time. Smart move.

And in a flash, I was strapped into a chair in Bartholomew's headquarters. The head angel himself stood before me, calm and collected. But I could smell the rage floating under the surface, and for once, I began to fear for my safety.

"Castiel. Best buds with Metatron."

"He's not my friend." I glared at him, still angry that he had stolen me away from my addiction.

"Aw, c'mon, Castiel. Do you really expect me to believe that? You and Metatron engineered this angel purgatory on Earth, and now you're going to tell me where he's at so we can restore the natural order of things."

I seethed through gritted teeth, "I don't know where he is."

The smell of fury intensified, although you wouldn't know it by the cool expression on his face. "Well that is unfortunate. Because if you're not going to tell us, we must use…other means. Kushiel?"

I followed Bartholomew's gaze to an angel I knew well—one who had a reputation for his archaic methods. I scowled at him. "Kushiel? The angel of punishment. He should be locked away for what he did in heaven."

"Well, he was, remember? But that's the thing about our fall from heaven—it set the slate clean, so to speak. Second chances and all."

"Chances to do your dirty work."

"I don't have to listen to this blasphemy. Kushiel, do your best."

Kushiel took Bartholomew's place in front of me. He looked much like the other angels in Bartholomew's faction—tall and straight, clean-cut, dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a suit. But there was something different about him as well—hints of his rebel streak, like the black leather gloves stretched tight over large hands, or the way the light glinted off his evil eyes, almost as black as a demon's.

Kushiel had angered God back in the day, and our father had sent him to Hell to inflict punishment on new souls. It was a shitty assignment. Kushiel was angry that God sent him there, so he turned sadistic. Not happy restricting his torture to souls already bound to eternal damnation, he rose to Earth and picked out undeserving humans to inflict pain upon. And then he made his big mistake—he tortured one of God's favorite angels, until the poor soul was dead. After that, God locked him in heaven's prison, where he stayed until we all got cast out.

When I saw him, I really started to worry about my well-being.

"Any last words before I start? A location, maybe? It might get you a little…gentler treatment."

I glared at him for a while, just to piss him off, before I said, "Bite me. Or is it, _eat me_? Or _eat this_? I get those mixed up. Although I believe they can all be used interchangeably, if I'm remembering right—"

He punched me, cutting off my words, and then he hit me several more times, until one of my eyes swelled shut. Then he started on my ribs, going after them so hard that I think some of them broke. I grunted through each blow, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing my suffering. And here I have to stop and admit newfound admiration for Sam and Dean. Now I know firsthand how exhausting it is to be punched over and over in a human body, and they do this crap all the time.

Not satisfied with my muted reaction, Kushiel started in with an angel blade, carving pieces of my skin on my chest, my face, my hands. Not going to lie—it hurt, bad, and I let out some screams. But, to be honest, it wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before, and I could handle it. Not enough to break me, even if I had something to tell, which I didn't. I had no idea where Metatron was, or how to break his spell and re-open heaven.

Bartholomew watched from the side and shifted his feet. "What is this? Child's play. I've done worse damage with my pinky nail."

Kushiel glared at him in that subtle way that angels do. "I'm just getting warmed up. Let me have my fun."

"We don't have all the time in the world. Get cracking."

Kushiel sighed, but he pulled out some holy oil and carefully poured it over my bleeding hands. It burned, smarted pretty bad, actually. I howled and writhed, and then panted through the pain. But, the thing is, I knew it could be way, way worse. The oil still affected me, but not as much since I had lost my grace. And I was still on a high from the demon blood, but I could feel it starting to wear off, and that added a restlessness to my pain.

Kushiel spilled a few more splashes of holy oil on my skin, and I huffed through the pain. I decided to give one more shot to reason. "I have no idea where Metatron is. I don't know anything about his operation. He tossed me aside after he used me, and now I don't even have a way to sense in on him, or anyone else for that matter."

But I think that at this point, Kushiel was beyond caring. He got off on bringing torture, and the purer the being the better, in his eyes. It was a form of addiction, much like the demon blood.

He went to his cart, topped with lots of scary-looking devices with sharp points and blunt ends. Carefully selecting just the right set of pliers, he approached me. "You know, I've learned a lot over the millennia," he said with a grin. "Like, did you know that the most pain-sensitive part of the body is the fingertips? That's why I like to do this."

He grabbed my index finger and gripped my fingernail with the pliers. Then he yanked it completely off.

This time I shrieked so loud that I thought my own eardrums would burst.

There's a difference between angels and humans. It's not that we angels don't feel pain—we do. But there's a big distinction in the pain. When an angel gets sliced or stabbed with an angel blade, we may feel an electrical shock throughout our soul, for example. Or we may feel our insides turn to jell-o as they disintegrate. But humans have all these pesky nerve endings throughout their skin, which amplifies the pain.

I'm the same as a human now, with the same human pain. And the demon's blood was almost completely out of my system, so it was only going to get worse from there.

Kushiel ripped another fingernail out with the pliers, and those damn nerve endings shot flames of agony up through my hand. I screamed bloody murder. This was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Notes:**_ _Buckle up._

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Four

Part 1. Dean

There were lots of things I should've done differently. I should've had a greater sense of urgency about Castiel. I should've realized that he wasn't just in trouble from the demon blood addiction, and that every angel thrown out of heaven would be on a revenge spree. But most of all, I should never, ever have let an angel get the drop on me.

It wasn't hard to trail Cass. There were pools of blood and dead demons everywhere he went. But the trail went dead near a crappy gas station in the middle of nowhere, and me and Sam couldn't figure out what had happened. The trail just went cold.

But just when we were getting ready to take a break from looking for him and grab a couple of beers, we hit a lucky break. An angel found us—one from a faction of angels called the Penitents. I almost slit his throat—so sick of all this angel drama. Like a bunch of moody teens or something.

But he had word that Bartholomew had captured Castiel, and our angel on the inside had intel on a couple of locations where the rival faction could be holing up. It would be hard to break in once we found the place, but we had to do it for Cass's sake.

Sam and I split up. We were each going to check out one site. We weren't going to just charge in—once we figured out where Cass was, we'd get together and come up with a plan to bust him out. You don't just bulldog your way into a place swarming with angel douchebags—that would be sudden death.

So I pulled up outside the place and sat in my car for a while, scoping out the building. Typical angelic bullshit spot—a multi-level office building that looked like it contained Bill Gate's headquarters. Sure as shit, there they were, crawling all over the place in their suits and ties and backs straight like they all had rods up their asses.

I was watching the place, seeing who came and who went, casing the place for possible entry points. But I saw a flash of something on the sixth floor—a burst of light so bright it could only mean one thing. An angel was dying.

And I knew I couldn't wait—I had to go in now.

Part 2. Castiel

I'm learning that there's an ebb and flow with pain. While your kneecap is being slowly gripped so hard that it shatters, the pain reaches a crescendo so excruciating that you scream in your mind, pleading for it to stop. You make vows, negotiate bargains in your head, praying to a God you know is not there to make it stop.

And then it ends, and you'd think it would make things better, because you got what you asked for. But immediately, before you even have a chance to appreciate the pause in the pain, you begin to tremble, dreading the resumption of the torment that you know is inevitable, wondering if it's going to be even worse than the last time.

I was beginning to break down. My body shook uncontrollably, and I felt like I might pass out. Sweat and tears and blood blended on my face, dripping down the front of my shirt. My eye was swollen completely shut, and between that and my hazy vision, probably from a concussion, I couldn't even see what Kushiel had planned next, and that terrified me.

I think we were beyond trying to get information here. He was just having fun torturing me, and I couldn't wrap my head around why anyone would enjoy that.

But I still hoped that pleading would help on some level, so I gave it one last shot. "Kushiel, please," I sputtered. "If I had anything to give you, you know I would have given it to you by now. Please stop. If you don't, I'm going to die, and then what good will I be to you?"

Kushiel, who was running his finger along the edge of a blade, raised an eyebrow. "Funny you should mention death. Because the next act of this play revolves around that very thing."

With those words, he jabbed the angel knife deep into my gut, and I convulsed as I felt my soul lifting out of me. It took me several seconds to die, and as I did, Kushiel's breath brushed my face, and he whispered, "The most terrifying thing about dying is the pain. That's my favorite part. I get to watch the terror and the agony in your eyes as you realize how powerless you really are."

He pulled his knife out of me, and I struggled to catch my breath, but I couldn't. I wriggled in claustrophobia, my chest heaving to draw in life-affirming oxygen, panicked that I couldn't. And then, for a second, there was a release as I lost the feeling of my body, and I realized that death had freed me.

Until Kushiel put his hand on my head and jolted me back to life. I imagine it's the same feeling as having a pair of jumper cables attached to you as someone else starts the car—the spark of a thousand nerve-endings firing up all at once. Oh, God. The agony in that moment.

And from the hunger in his eyes, I could tell he was going to do it again.

Part 3. Dean

After calling Sam to let him know the scoop, I snuck in the back, pretending to be a delivery guy. I was trying to get up there as quick as possible, slip upstairs without drawing attention, so no ganking angels along the way. I stepped onto an elevator and kept my head down, making sure not to look up into the cameras I knew would be above me. Holding my hands folded in front of me, I sniffed, listening to Muzak streaming as I tried to look calm.

I got to the sixth floor and I knew I couldn't hesitate. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I stepped off and stabbed the first angel I saw. There were two more, but I was already off the first dead one before they could get it together and take me out. My arms and feet flew and I had the first one, and then the second. It was blitzkrieg up in here.

There was only one room on this floor, and it took up the entire space. I opened the door, and as soon as I saw Castiel strapped to a chair, I scanned the room for the next angel to attack, but the room was empty except for us. I ran to Castiel. To say he was in bad shape is an understatement.

"Cass, Cass…Cass," I said, tapping his arm. God, he looked to be on death's door. His face was just…mush, the left side swollen, blood rolling down in streams. I looked him over to see if there was any chance he could walk out of here on his own, but I was probably going to have to carry him. There were slash marks all over him—his chest, his arms, his forehead. He looked like someone mistook him for Thanksgiving dinner. But that wasn't all.

There were burn marks on his hands and on his arms, and the tips of his fingernails were just…they were gone. "Oh, my God, Cass."

His good eye opened, and he looked at me, barely able to lift his head. Sounding parched, he breathed out a raspy, "Dean."

"Hey, shh, it's okay Cass. Save your energy. I'm going to get you out of here. Just don't move. I got you."

In defiance of my request, he lifted one finger, and whispered, "Behind you."

But it was too late. The angel sneaking up on me didn't kill me though. Instead, before I could even turn to slash the life out of him, he gripped me, lighting me up like a Christmas tree until he was inside me.

Part 4. Castiel

Dean was no longer himself, now he was merely a vessel for Kushiel. But he looked like Dean, which made it odd to hear when he said, "Great, let's allow your friend to join the party, Castiel. The more the merrier."

I always thought angels had to have permission to enter a vessel. Apparently, some angels are so corrupt that they don't feel the need to follow the rules.

Dean-slash-Kushiel uncuffed me then, and for a confused second I thought maybe Dean had fought off his occupier and was going to rescue me. Instead, he dragged me to an operating table across the room, and I say dragged because I could no longer walk on my shattered knee.

He threw me face down onto the table, chattering in Dean's voice non-stop. "See, this is far from over. I haven't even gotten to the best parts yet." He didn't even need to cuff me, I was just a puddle of unmovable flesh sprawled out on my belly. He had already cut off my coat, and now he slashed my shirt down the back. I wanted to pass out, but I knew that even if I did, I would be jolted out of blissful unconsciousness before I could relish it.

Dean continued to spew out Kushiel's words, picking out the sharpest blade as he did. "As you know, I used to be limited to torturing the new souls in Hell. But that wasn't as satisfying to me as tearing apart real, honest-to-God human bodies. So many sensitive spots."

I heard a horrifying crunch, and I could tell from the shooting, searing heat in my back that he had stabbed all the way through to my spine. I was too weak to scream anymore, but I groaned, and all my muscles tensed, at least the ones above the waist that could still feel pain.

I couldn't bear to hear Kushiel in Dean's voice anymore, but he wouldn't stop talking. "There's a group of nerves here called the Girdle Sack." He moved the blade around in my back. "Oh yeah, here it is."

I could barely breathe through the pain, but I puffed hard and fast to try and wriggle at least a tiny bit of relief. "And I think it made it through to your kidney already." He shoved the blade in farther anyway. And then he sliced upward. "And this will take care of the rest of your internal organs."

Waves of nausea nearly drowned me. I must have been weakening from the blood loss. Still the blade sliced higher up the back of my spine until it reached my chest. "I've actually timed how long it takes for people to die so that I can make them suffer as much as possible," Dean seethed through clenched teeth, muscling the blade up. "And this is one of the longer and more painful methods."

The blade had pierced my lungs, and now I could no longer breathe again. I think that of all the ways to die, drowning must be the worst. I know this because I drowned in my own blood multiple times that day, and I can personally say, there's nothing more frightening than trying to reach for a breath of air that just won't come.

And then I died, and had no time to enjoy it before Dean rolled me onto my back and brought me back to life again.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Five

Part 1. Dean

Most of the time I spent in that room, I was completely helpless to control my own body. Somehow I could hear the angel's name in my head: _Kushiel_ , and I knew everything he was thinking. The things he made me do were repulsive and revolting, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't move my own muscles to stop it.

After slicing Castiel open from the back, watching the glint of the blade as it cut through his organs like an Exacto knife, I watched as he died, rolled him over, and then placed my hand on his head and watched him come back to life.

I can't blame the guy for not wanting to come back. He sputtered and quivered on the table, blood dripping from his lips. I threw the blade down onto the floor with a clatter, and balled my fist up. And then I looked Cas straight in his one un-swollen eye as I plunged my entire clenched hand into his guts.

From my crappy vantage point, I could see every bit of Castiel's fear. I wished so hard in that moment that I could look away from him. His arms flailed as he tried to push me off him, but he was too weak. Heavy breaths flew from his lips, the heat of them landing on my face, and his trembling body underneath me made me resist even harder against the asshat inside me.

My voice came back to me, rising in a crescendo as I said, "NoooOOOO!"

But I couldn't get control of my fist in his guts, and I could feel my fingers unfolding to fish around inside of him. One by one his slimy organs squished into my palm, and I squeezed each of them in turn. If I could I would have thrown up.

And then he went still, and I knew that I had killed him again. And I brought him back once more.

His eyes bolted open and searched my face. "Dean," he mumbled, grabbing me by the collar. "Please stop. I know you can do it."

Now I felt guilty. Sam had done it, getting control long enough to overtake Lucifer himself and throw the both of them into the pits of Hell. But try as I might, I just couldn't turn my possessed body away from the bloody torture I was inflicting on my best friend.

"Dean, please," he said with trembling lips. I picked up a spike, about two feet long. Cass's voice changed, becoming more desperate, a pleading, whimpering sound, not the gruff, husky voice I was used to, but more high-pitched. Like a human, begging for his life. "Please, Dean. Please don't."

But I couldn't stop, and I pulled his head up off the table by a chunk of his hair. Carefully placing the point of the spike into one of his nostrils, I shoved it up into his brain.

Now he screamed. It was the first time I'd heard him scream since I'd been in here, and it cast an unbearable ringing into my skull that I don't think I'll ever be able to erase.

There were a few seconds of relief when a blade slammed into the back of my shoulder, forcing me to let go of the spike. But the respite was short-lived when the pain followed the stabbing. But it was worth it if it would get that douche out of my body.

I spun around to find Sam standing behind me—he had been the one to stab me, and I would never have thought I would say this, but I was glad he did it. Sam splashed some holy oil on my arm, and the angel inside me screamed, and then lit my body up as it left. It hurt, but not as bad as the stab wound on my shoulder.

Luckily, Sammy had been busy behind us while we were focused on torturing Cas, because as soon as Dr. Evil entered his old vessel, Sam lit up a lighter and threw it on an angel sigil that incinerated a circle around Kushiel. And then Sam stabbed him while he was looking for a way out of the trap.

I ignored my pain and turned my attention to Cass. He was unmoving on the table, the spike still stuck in his brain. I yanked it out, and rivers of blood gushed out of his nose. "No, Cas," I said softly, knowing he was dead. I cradled his head in my arms. "No, no, no, no."

The only way to revive him had died when Sam had stabbed Kushiel. And then I remembered—that wasn't the only way.

I turned to Sam and said, "Zeke!"

Instantly, Sam's façade changed and his eyes lit up, and I could tell that Ezekiel was the one in charge of Sam's body now. I ignored a pang of guilt while he talked in his harsh angel voice. "I can't heal him completely," he said. "That would wipe out my reserves completely, and Sam would die."

My chest tightened. "But you can…bring him back from the dead, at least, right?"

Sam-slash-Zeke stood stock still and tall. "I can, but he's going to be in poor condition while he heals, if he ever heals. It's not just his physical wounds. He had the demon blood too, remember?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "I know. I don't care. Bring him back. Hurry!"

Sam touched Castiel's forehead, and Cass didn't move, but I saw his chest rise and fall, and that was enough for me. And then Ezekiel was gone, and Sam was back. I stared at Cass's face, feeling Sam's confused gaze behind me. "Oh my God, how is he alive?"

I scrambled for an answer. "I don't know. The angel torturing him kept bringing him back to life so he could keep up his sick S&M game. Maybe he brought him back right before you got him…got me."

I put my hands on Cass's arms and shook him. "Cass. Cass, c'mon, we gotta get you out of here."

One red eye opened, and he shuddered. "Dean," he murmured. "So cold."

He shivered, his entire body covered in blood like he had taken a bath in a slaughterhouse. But he was alive.

Part 2. Castiel

I only remember bits and pieces of my escape. The boys draped my arms around their necks and dragged me out of the room. There was no way I could walk, with my busted knee cap, so I tried to hop on my good leg, but most of the time I weakly allowed the boys to hold me up while they carried me. I didn't realize at the time how bad Dean's shoulder was hurt, he has earned a lot of gratitude from me for suffering through it to haul me out of there.

I had chills so bad that my teeth chattered. Between my swollen eye and the sweat and blood pouring into my good eye, everything was blurry, and I drifted in and out of consciousness. So I couldn't even see how many angels surrounded us when we got off the elevator, but I knew it was a lot. Dean let go of me to go fight them, and Sam wobbled under my weight. I slid to the ground, and he gently helped me down. "Sorry, Cass," he whispered in my ear. "Gotta go kick some angel ass."

I don't know how long I lay there, could have been a few minutes or a few days. But eventually the boys returned and picked me back up, sandwiching me in between them. And then they carried-slash-dragged me out to the car. Sam crawled in the back and Dean shoved me onto him.

Now that I was in the car, the roar of the engine vibrating through me, my head cradled in Sam's lap, I felt momentarily safe, and I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in a bed. Predicting that it was going to hurt too bad to open my eyes, I kept them shut. But there were hands touching me, one of them swabbing my forehead with a warm, damp rag, and I listened to the boys' voices. "He's bad, Sam. We gotta get him some help. If he doesn't get medical attention, he may die. And he'll definitely never be able to walk on that leg again. Permanently disabled. Is that what you want?"

Another hand was dabbing at my arm with a sponge with some sort of oily liquid. "Of course not! But we can't just drop him off at Angel General. What if someone at a hospital figures out what he really is?"

Dean's voice took on a new desperation. "Sam, I have to help him. I'm the one who did this to him, for crying out loud. How in hell can I ever live with myself knowing that I'm the one who killed him?"

Sam's sponge pressed too hard into one of the cuts on my hand, and I winced. There was a pause, and then Dean said, "Cass? You awake?"

My lips were so parched I could hardly speak, but I tried anyway. "You can't blame yourself, Dean."

"Sh, Cass, don't talk," Dean said gently.

Sam bolted out of his seat, and when he returned, he held my head up. "Take a drink, Cass." Cold glass touched my lips, and I took a couple of sips of water from it. "Just rest now. We're going to take care of you. You're safe."

I didn't want them to take me to the hospital and risk having an examination. I may be mostly human, but there are still some differences, ones that may be discovered by observant doctors. But when I tried to tell them my wishes, all that came out was a cough.

I guess when I coughed, some blood sputtered on my chin, because Dean wiped it off with his washrag. "Just rest, Cass. And stay with us. Please don't die."

And then I was out again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Six

Part 1. Castiel

I didn't die. But all I could do for the next few days was lie in bed and sleep. I was too exhausted to move. Elimination—uh, I mean, going to the bathroom, was a challenge, to say the least. Since I couldn't walk, I had to yell out for Sam and Dean. I couldn't yell real loud because my voice was so hoarse from screaming during my torture session. The boys found me a bell, and then teased me, something about bells and angels getting their wings. I think it was a reference to a black and white Jimmy Stewart movie.

But I was beginning to heal. One evening, Dean came into my room with that hangdog, guilty look. I had to end this.

"Dean," I rasped. My voice was coming back, but it wasn't quite there yet.

He raised his eyebrows and came to the bed. I hadn't talked hardly at all since I was rescued, so it must have surprised him. "Yeah, Cass?"

"You've gotta stop beating yourself up over this." He sat down on the edge of the bed and hung his head. I touched his arm. "It wasn't your fault."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, it is, Cass. I tortured you. I killed you. Like, to death. And all because I couldn't get control over one stupid angel."

"A powerful angel, Dean. One with a lot of anger issues. And I know how hard you tried."

"How do you know?"

"I heard your prayers."

He narrowed his eyes. "Prayers?"

I was growing weary, but I said, "Yeah. You may not have been meaning to, but you were screaming out in your mind. Something like, 'Please! Don't let me kill Cass!'"

Dean shook his head. "Still, I will never get the images of you dying out of my head. And it's more than that. This would never have happened if I hadn't kicked you out of here."

"You had your reasons." I coughed, but I wanted to finish this. "Dean, you're my friend. I don't want to see you kicking yourself forever over this. I forgive you. Can you please do me a favor and try to forgive yourself?"

He looked anywhere but my face. "I don't know if I can. But I'll try." Now he looked at me straight on. "For you."

His eyes narrowed. "Cass, you're burning up." He pressed the back of his hand on my forehead and whistled. "Hang on, I'll go get you a cold rag."

He was right. I had hoped that since I hadn't experienced detoxification yet, I had managed to avoid the worst of it. But now I was achy and chilled, and sweating buckets.

Sweat was another one of those not-so-fun human body functions. You couldn't shut it off, no matter what you did. And it was just gross—it got all up in your face and your arm pits and made you smell bad. It soaked your hair, plastering it against your head. And it gave you a sticky feeling. Very unpleasant.

Dean came back, but instead of bearing a washrag, he gripped an angel blade. And then he strode right up to me and sliced my cheek. That was when I screamed, and discovered that my voice was coming back more than I realized.

Great. Now the hallucinations were beginning.

Part 2. Dean

We had decided not to take Cass to the hospital, because if he started going through detox from the demon blood, they might lock him up in the psych ward. If he was going to go into a padded cell, it might as well be ours.

He was lucid for a short while—even tried to get me to dump my guilt, like that was ever going to happen. But I left the room and came back with a wet rag, and he acted as if I was trying to tear him limb from limb. I held my hands out in front of me. "It's okay, Cass, I'm not going to hurt you."

But he yelled, backing away from me in the bed, and his wild eyes told me he was seeing something completely different. Something terrifying.

"Sam!" I yelled. I wasn't going to be any good to him now.

I backed up, and Sam rushed in. We stood in the doorway for a minute, watching Cass. His arms guarded his chest, and he stared at some invisible force in front of him. "No, Dean, please don't."

Then he let out a howl of pain. I averted my eyes, fighting off a flood of guilt. Sam took over and rushed in, trying to soothe Cass. "It's alright, Cass. This isn't real."

Cass turned his head toward Sam like he actually saw him. "I know, Sam. But it's so…real."

He knew right now that it was a delusion. But for how long? When Sam was going through the same withdrawals, there were periods of time when he was completely lost in the hallucinations. And things had gotten bad—real bad.

"Maybe we should move him," I suggested.

"Into the dung…—I mean, basement?"

I nodded.

Sam shook his head and approached me so we could whisper. "No, Dean. I don't want to lock him away down there like he's done something wrong. He's been through enough."

I let my voice get too loud for a second. "You saw what happened to you, Sam."

"Saw it? I lived it."

Cass was watching now, and I lowered my voice again. "If he goes off, he'll take us out. And then he'll never be able to live with himself. We can't take that chance."

Sam glanced at Cass, who was panting. "Just give him a little time. Let's wait and see what happens. If it gets too bad—"

"It may be too late then, Sam." I rubbed my face. "But you're right—I couldn't live with myself if he thought I was punishing him. But you keep a close eye on him, you hear? If I stay in here, it's just going to set him off."

I cast one last glance at Cass's pained expression and turned heel and scurried away.

Part 3. Dean

Throughout that night, Sam sat with Cass and tried to keep him calm. About three-thirty a.m., I was trying to down shots of whisky to drown out memories of torturing Cass, but it was hard to forget with all the angel screaming going on in Sam's bedroom.

Sam came out with an empty glass. "Can you get me a pitcher of water so I don't have to leave him alone?"

I stood. A crashing noise came from the bedroom, and we both darted in just in time to see Cass standing, bad knee and all, with a knife to his arm. For a while, I couldn't move, staring horrified at what I was seeing. After Cass cut a seeping bloody gash into his arm, he began to suck on it like it was baby's milk.

"Cass stop!" I said, yanked out of my stupor by the sight.

Almost as one, Sam and I barreled toward him, but he didn't stop feeding from his arm. Now, I don't usually get squeamish over things like that, but the sound of the slurping about did me in.

I grabbed one arm and Sam grabbed the other, and we were lucky that he was still weak and the two of us could drag him back to the bed. We both sat on an arm as he squirmed beneath us. "Sam, I think it's time."

"But what is wrong with him?" Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, besides the DT's. Why is he doing that?"

"Probably just hallucinating."

I looked at Cass's face, contorted and angry. "You have to give me some more," he seethed.

Now I made eye contact with Sam, and I could tell it was a light bulb moment for both of us. "Unless," I said, "He's delusional, thinking he can get the demon blood from himself."

Sam looked worried. "I think you're right. And yeah, time to move him."

We cuffed him and he flipped out, his nostrils flaring as he shouted, "No. No! I won't let you take me."

We wrestled him into the basement and handcuffed him to _The Chair_. 'Bout ripped my heartstrings right out of my chest, like the time I had to do this to Sammy.

And then I had to make a decision. As much as I wanted to stay in here, I knew that Cass would see me as his tormenter and not as a friend there to support him. So I decided I had to leave and listen to his tortured screams from the other room.

I went to him one last time before I left, patted his shoulder. He flinched and shrunk from me, and then practically hyperventilated. "Please Dean—don't hurt me."

I pulled back my hand. "I hope you feel better soon, Cass. I'll be in the other room if you need me." To Sam, I whispered, "Let's just hope he lives."

And then I walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Seven

Part 1. Castiel

Imaginary Dean started up on me again, even worse than the last time. Or so I thought. It felt like it was really happening, and then occasionally I would realize I was just hallucinating. Problem was, I didn't get the reprieve of dying this time. No, I stayed awake during the whole thing, and experienced some pretty horrific things. I guess that's what Hell is like.

During several hours that seemed like years, Dean had the front of me sliced completely open, like I was on the operating table. He cut out my liver, and I yowled. And then he slapped it down on a table like it was a piece of meat, and came back for my heart.

Pleading didn't make him stop, but it had a placebo effect, so I kept it up. "Dean, please don't. Please stop."

He sawed into my heart and I groaned through gritted teeth and yanked at the cuffs. If I could just breathe through it…

When he withdrew his hand from my chest, there were pieces of my heart laying on it. "This is what you get, Cass. This is what you deserve for being such a dick."

My voice didn't sound like my own. "I don't know what I did, Dean, but I'm sorry." I forced myself to look into his eyes, so that maybe he would take pity on me. "Please…just kill me for good."

He ignored my request. "You don't know what you did. Why don't we take a trip down memory lane. How about, for starters, trying to play God? Douchebag move. Bringing all those leviathans here. Getting heaven shut down. I could go on…"

"I'm sorry," I whined. This is what I had been reduced to.

"Not good enough!" And with that, he stabbed the blade up through my chin and into my brain once more. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

"Cass, it's okay. I'm here, Buddy. You're going to be fine."

Now I realized it was Sam speaking, and he was really here, in real life. Dean wasn't in the room, I wasn't in the bed anymore but a chair in a dank cellar of sorts, all my organs were in tact, and Sam was sitting right next to me in a chair, squeezing my hand. "Feel this, Cass. This is real."

Sweat plastered my hair to my head. "I'm so hot, Sam. Can I have some water?"

"Sure." He scrambled for the glass and held it up to my lips. I sipped it, but craved something with a lot more kick. Sam touched my shoulder. "I'm sorry Cass, for keeping you cuffed down here, but you were hurting yourself."

I groaned. "It's okay, Sam. I can't even tell you what I might do if I get out of here. The demon blood is calling me."

Dean walked in again, and Sam was gone. But Dean had brought another visitor, and now I knew the worst was yet to come—he had Nora.

Tears fell from my eyes like the pleas from my lips. "Dean. Don't do this. I'm begging."

He cast an evil glance at me before holding her against the wall by her neck. She locked eyes with me, and our tears fell together. "I'm so sorry, Nora."

But that was all the words I could get out before choking up. She screamed when Dean punctured her through the guts with a spike, pinning her to the wall like a butterfly in someone's sick collection. Her eyes implored me to help her—rescue her in some way. I was and angel, dammit! Why couldn't I save her?

The thing I never knew about tears is that when they start coming, it's hard to stop them. They flowed out of me in never-ending currents as I watched her die in agonizing pain, over and over again.

Part 2. Dean

Hours turned into days, and I was about to lose my mind. I wished I could put him out of his misery somehow, but it would kill me to kill him. Sam came in the kitchen to get a break. "Dean, what if he doesn't make it?"

My throat closed up, but I managed to say, "He won't, Sam. He can't. We can't let that happen."

"But how do we stop it from happening?"

I downed a shot. "I don't know, but we gotta do something. Do you think I've stopped torturing him? In his mind, I mean."

"I don't know. He does call out your name sometimes still."

I shook my head. I had to see him. "I'm going in."

Sam didn't even try to stop me. When I got in the room, he was slumped in the chair, not moving. At first, I thought he was dead, so I rushed to his side and slid my hand under his nose to feel for breathing. A faint draft of warm breath reached my skin. Alive—check.

I kneeled before him, trying to touch him gently so I wouldn't startle him. "Cass. Cass, you still with us?"

He looked horrible—still with physical gashes and bruises from his torture session, but the swelling had gone down quite a bit. Thank…not God, just whoever. But his eyes were sunken and dark circles swallowed them. His hair was matted with sweat, and it hadn't stopped beading on the surface of his skin. "Cass," I said again, pleading in my mind too this time, remembering what he had said about prayers.

He moaned, and without opening his eyes, he mumbled weakly, "Don't."

I looked up at Sam. "We gotta get him in a bed. He needs to rest or he's not going to make it."

We dragged a bed in there and put Cass on it. He didn't resist. I don't know if he was even capable of struggling at this point. Even so, we put the handcuffs on, just in case he got a wild hair.

And then I left again, not wanting to be the first face he saw when he came out of this.

Part 3. Castiel

I don't know how, but I fell asleep finally. And not that my nightmares were any better than the hallucinations, but at least they felt less real.

I awoke with a jerk, expecting to see Dean the Dominatrix standing over me. Instead, it was Sam, and he came immediately to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Hey Buddy, how you doing?"

"Been better," I rasped. "But at least I'm not being tortured."

Sam rubbed my arm. "Well, I 'm glad. Hopefully the worst is over now. Just rest, okay? And if you need anything, I'm right here."

I nodded, and fell back asleep.

When I woke up, Dean was there. I blinked. But I didn't have an urge to run screaming out of the room this time, so I figured he must be the real thing. When he saw I was awake, he immediately showed me his empty hands. "I'm not going to hurt you Cass. It's really me."

I closed my eyes, still waiting for one of those hands to thrust a blade through me. "I know, Dean."

My fever must have broken, because now I was swimming in twice as much sweat as I had before. I shivered. "Can you turn the heat up in here?"

"I'll have Sam get the space heater, okay, Cass? I do have a blanket, though. He threw one over me, and I curled up into it. "How's the ride on the wagon?"

"Bumpy." I couldn't talk much louder than a whisper. "But I'll survive."

Dean paused, and then said, "No, really, Cass, how are you doing?"

"I'm…I'm…" There were those damn tears again, threatening to escape my eyes. Dean had made statements in the past, about crying like a baby, and I got the impression it was not something he thought real men should be doing. I know I never had, before these last few weeks. But then, I'm not a man.

Dean gingerly closed the distance between him and me, until he was standing right next to the bed. "Can I-?" He pointed to the bed.

"Yeah, it's fine Dean. I'm not afraid right now."

He sat down next to me. "Cass, you can tell me. It's okay to…to talk about it."

I hesitated. "Okay. Well, you…you didn't hold back. And it hurt a lot."

Dean cringed and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Man, I'm so sorry."

Now he looked like he was going to cry, and I was confused at the contradictions between what he'd said about crying and how he was acting now. "Dean, I meant what I said before, I don't blame you at all." I looked away, to avoid the awkwardness. "And anyway, the torture wasn't even the worst part."

"What, then?"

"After I saw you in the store last time, I started going out with Nora."

"Nora? Like the hot date—Nora?"

"Yeah. Didn't go so well the first time. But after that, we had a relationship and…" Dean's eyes glistened. "And I…I loved her."

"Loved her? As in, marry and have kids kind of love?"

"Yeah." I sighed. "And then the demon got to her."

And now, I choked up so hard that I had to suck in my grief by biting my lips firmly shut. Dean closed his eyes. "Ah, Cass, I'm so sorry."

He rubbed my arm, and now I no longer feared this man who had murdered me over and over. Instead, I trusted him with the full extent of my pain. "And then you…in my hallucinations anyway…you tortured—"

I couldn't speak anymore, and all I wanted was some physical touch to help ease the pain, so I leaned into him and buried my face in his chest. He put his arms around me, gripped me so hard that the anguish finally had found a place to empty itself, and I cried, really cried.

Part 4. Dean

Now, y'all probably know I'm not the hugging type. It's a well-known fact. But when your best friend is crumpled in your arms, bundled in a blanket, spilling the contents of his soul onto your chest, you don't push him away. And you might spill a few tears yourself.

Basically, Cass cried, and not the good kind. No—the ugly kind where you want to look away before your heart breaks open and reveals all the hidden sentimental crap inside. I mean, he was sniffling and breathless, and I felt for the guy. He'd been to Hell and back, that's for sure.

So I just held him like that for a while—sissy references be damned. I was just glad he trusted me enough again to let me be there for him. And that he had survived, and it looked like he was going to be okay.

And it first, it seemed that way. But we all breathed a sigh of relief a little too soon, and that was a huge mistake.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Eight

Part 1. Castiel

I got better. Well, the physical part of me got better anyway. In fact, everything was healing up fine, except for my knee. Still in pieces.

We tried going to the hospital, hoping they could just slap a cast on it and everything would be fine. But they said they would have to do surgery. I needed a knee replacement. They were amazed I was getting around with just crutches—thought I should be immobilized with pain. Frankly, I don't know how I was getting around, either. It hurt every time I moved my leg.

I opted not to get the surgery. This infuriated Dean, who said in the car, "Cass, get your knee fixed, dammit! What is wrong with you?"

"I can't go into the hospital. They'll put me under, and they might figure out what I really am."

"So?"

"So, have you ever seen what your people do to anything that's not human? If they don't kill it, they lock it up, do experiments…"

"But you've been in the hospital before."

"Not by choice."

After that, Dean stewed in silence until we got home.

I'm not sure how long I laid on the couch while my body repaired itself, probably two or three weeks. All my swelling healed up, my ribs knitted back together, my fingernails started to grow back. But on the inside, I was still as damaged as I had been.

When I was in Heaven, I could never understand why people got depressed. There is so much beauty in creation, how could people not see that? Why couldn't they just get past a trauma or two and get on with their lives?

I get it now. Shitty things happen to good people, and the pain is…well, indescribable. But I'll try.

When Nora got killed, there was an instant blackness that took over my mid-section. It was a gremlin, eating away at my core, way worse than any physical pain. Like your soul is being sucked right out from your heart.

And it never went away. That's the part I didn't get. How could so much time go by, and I still felt like darkness had swallowed all the love I'd cherished?

I tried thinking of her, keeping her memories alive to get me through this difficult time. But then I would remind myself, _she is never coming back._

I tried forgetting about her, distracting myself with TV, beer and pizza. But it was a useless fix, because I would see a happy couple on a sit-com and be reminded of what I was missing. That's when I would shut off the TV and just sit in silence, trying to intoxicate myself until I passed out.

And I tried to remind myself that I would see her again someday in Heaven. But that might be years away, long years, during which I would have to live with her absence. And that line of thinking led to a whole rabbit hole that I tried to avoid going down.

I wondered how you people do it, go through the grief every time a loved one died. If I was ever God, I would change that so that we die with all our kin. At least it would make death more bearable.

Part 2. Dean

I knew something wasn't right with Cass. Most of his time was spent watching bad daytime TV and eating Ben & Jerry's. He was partial to Half Baked, which I thought was fitting. If he didn't get up and out of the house soon we would have to put him on Weight Watchers. Or he'd die of boredom. Either way…

I couldn't blame the guy, but it was all his fault that he didn't get the surgery. If he had, maybe he could've worked a few cases or something. Anything to get his mind off his problems.

I tried to talk him. Yeah, that didn't go well. He was on the couch, and when I entered the room, he switched the TV on quick, pretending he'd been watching. I knew I'd almost caught him staring off into space again. There had to be an intervention here.

I parked a butt cheek on the couch. "Cass, let's go outside. You need to get out."

"Where is there to go?"

"The roof."

Wrinkles formed on his forehead. "It's an underground bunker."

I held up a finger. "By roof, I mean the top of the hill. C'mon, I'll help you up there."

He stared at the boob tube. "No thanks. I'm watching TV."

I looked up at the screen long enough to see the previews. "Says the Kardashians are on next. You aren't missing anything."

"What's a…Kardashian?"

"Nevermind. Come on."

He sighed, but he limped his way all the way into the cold, dark outdoors, up to the top of the hill, using me as a crutch to support him. Didn't complain a bit. I gotta hand it to him—guy's tough.

We sat on the ground, and I watched him while he watched the stars. Quietly, he said, "I wish I was one of those stars right now."

I shook my head. "Cass, we gotta talk. I'm worried about you, pal."

He frowned, still staring up into the night sky. The moonlight made his eyes glisten. His voice far away, he said, "What good does talking do? I tried that. It only made me feel worse."

I stared at the side of his face, hoping I could get through to him. "If you don't get it out, though, man, you hold it in, and it gets worse."

He glowered at me now. "You're one to talk, Dean. You, the king of…of holding it in."

"Touche." He took a swig from his beer, and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "I get it, I mean I do. You're down. We've all been there."

"But what if…the down never turns into an up?"

I still couldn't get him to look at me. "It does, Cass. I promise. Right now, it might seem like life's never going to get better, but it does."

"But I'll never see her face again. At least, not while I'm alive."

I didn't like the sound of that. "C'mon, Cass. You said yourself, you can't get defeated by anger or despair. You said that's part of being human."

His eyes narrowed into slits, and I could tell he wasn't buying what I was selling. "I was programmed by angels. That's our code—never give up. And I said that before I found out how far human suffering could penetrate into my soul. I never knew how debilitating it could be."

I didn't know what to say to that. When you knew there was no God, no solution, that you would never see the person you loved ever again…well, let's just say, been there done that. And yeah, it sucks.

So I just sat and listened while he said what he wanted to say. "What Nora and I shared, it was miraculous. The long walks, holding hands, the gentle kisses. It gave me a faith in goodness that I haven't had in a long time. We did everything together. We cooked, we snuggled, we even went to the zoo." His voice got quiet. "I had all the things I cherished about being human—love, hope and dreams. And then in a matter of seconds, she was just ripped away from me."

His head dropped, and the moonlight glinted off the path of a tear on his cheek. I reached over and rubbed his back. "I'm so sorry, Cass," I whispered. I didn't know what else to say.

Part 3. Dean

Sam was getting cabin fever, and I didn't blame him. We'd been babysitting Cass going on a month now. I sent him out to work a reaper-gone-rogue case, but I stayed behind. I couldn't leave Cass by himself in his state. And he had that damn knee that he wouldn't take care of. At this rate, we were going to have to hire a live-in nanny.

But we had to eat. At least, I had to eat. Cass—well he just nibbled, if that. So I went out to the store.

When I got back, Cass was sitting on the couch watching TV, his back to me. "Hey, Cass!" I started to put the groceries away. He didn't answer me, but that was par for the course lately. Sometimes he was a complete space cadet, his mind in the clouds. "I got you some more ice cream—your favorite. And I got us some more whiskey. Thought maybe we could party a little tonight, maybe loosen things up a bit."

Since he still hadn't answered, I approached him from the side, saying, "What do you say—"

His expressionless face stopped me dead in my tracks. Something was drastically wrong. His glazed eyes weren't even looking at the TV, and his hand rested on his lap, gripping an angel blade, knuckles white like he was holding onto a life raft.

"Cass? What's going on?"

He didn't answer, just raised the knife to his own throat. "Don't come any closer, Dean." He looked at me warily and sighed. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

I stood still, trying to estimate the time it would take to reach him versus the time it would take for him to draw the knife across his throat. "Cass, just put the blade down. Let's just talk about this."

"No more talking, Dean. Thank you for…everything you've ever done for me. I'm so sorry." With that, he clenched his lips and slashed a deep slit into his throat, and by the time I reached him, the buckets of blood gushing down the front of his shirt told me he was done for.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Notes:**_

 **Tears of an Angel**

Chapter Nine

Part 1. Dean

I cradled lifeless Cass in my arms while I rocked. "Why, Cass, why?"

His eyes were closed forever, and I realized I would never see their sparkling beauty ever again. Not gonna lie, I sobbed like a girl. In case his spirit was still hovering nearby, I said a few words into the air. "Cass, I love you so much. I'm so sorry for everything. I'm so sorry…"

I don't know why I blamed myself. Maybe it was the guilt from memories of ripping into his guts, killing him over and over. Or maybe just the fact that I hadn't thought of a way to help him through his pain. I'd made Bobby promise me he wouldn't kill himself. Why hadn't I thought of that with Cass?

I guess I just never thought he'd actually go through with it, hadn't anticipated that the pain of an angel could run as deep as a human's. But I should have. He had left signs—he'd made statements about not wanting to be here. And now I realized why he hadn't gotten his knee fixed. No point in it if you're not going to be alive long. But I'd missed all that. Sad mistake there.

And why hadn't I told him I loved him while he was still alive? Would it have made a difference? I would never know.

I sensed a movement and looked up, and there was Death. He looked the same as always—thin, spindly arms and legs, gaunt face, dressed all in black. "Why are you here?" I sneered. "Why didn't you send a reaper?"

"And miss the death of Castiel, the rogue angel? I had to see this one myself."

I looked down at Cass's peaceful face with longing. "Can't you do something to bring him back? I'll do anything."

"Sorry, but no. He's gotten off the hook way too many times now. It's time for him to go. Besides, he _wants_ to go. I don't get many easy cases like that."

I sniffled back tears. And then something didn't make sense to me, sending off sirens in my mind. Why had Death even appeared to me? Shouldn't he be showing himself to Cass instead?

I looked up at him. "But…there's a reason you're still standing there, and not whisking him away right now."

Death turned to pace. "Oh, boy…you know me too well."

I only paused for a second. "Well, get to it."

"I can't—won't bring him back. But there is something—"

"What is it!" I yelled, ready to rip his head off if he didn't quit stalling.

He sighed. "There is a saying—although I've never seen proof—that angel's tears fall as diamonds."

He paused. I was sure I would punch him. "So? I'm not looking to get rich."

He lifted a finger, as if that would hold me back. "They say that angel's tears are the only thing that can revive a dead angel."

I would've thrown my hands in the air if they hadn't been cradling Cass's head. "Why didn't you just say that!?" My heart pounded so loud that I could hear it. "How does it work? Is there a spell?"

He wagged his finger at me. "Uh-uh, dear boy. I was just giving you a tip. It's up to you to figure it out. You have two minutes."

I lowered Cass to the sofa and knelt beside him. Did he even cry before he slit his own throath? I couldn't remember from the hazy, panicked chaos that had descended during his death.

I examined his face. Wet spots shone against his pale cheeks. That was good—that meant he had shed tears.

I frantically searched everywhere—the couch, the floor, under the coffee table. Nothing. Then I saw something gleaming out of the corner of my eye, a glint of something underneath the couch. I dropped my head to the floor so I could fish it out. And when I gripped it in my fingers, I instantly knew it was exactly what I had been looking for—one single, sparkling diamond.

But now that I had it, what should I do with it? I didn't have time to look through spell books or online. He couldn't swallow it—he was dead. But maybe if I put it in his mouth…

I shoved it in and then clamped his jaws shut. Nothing. And I was running out of time. Then I had to dig it out of his throat with my finger.

Think think think—I had to think. Then I got an idea. There was a hydraulic press in the garage. I palmed the diamond and rushed out to it. I inserted the diamond onto it, powered it up, and lowered the press onto the diamond, and heard a satisfying crushing sound.

I lifted the press and fumbled for a couple of pieces of cardboard on the workbench. And then I scraped some crumbs from the shattered diamond onto the cardboard and ran inside.

Death was standing over Castiel. "No!" I shouted, sprinting as fast as I could to Cass's side. I pried open his jaw and dropped the diamond dust down his throat and waited. All was still, even Death.

Cass took a gasping breath, and then sputtered and coughed. Death disappeared.

Cass's shirt was soaked in blood, and he had a line of it coming from the corner of his mouth. But he was coughing and breathing and he was alive. I stared at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. "Thank God," I said. Rethinking it, I said, "Thank you, Death."

As soon as his eyes snapped open, I saw rage in them. His arms flew up to grasp my shoulders and shove me away. "What did you DO?!"

As I stood to catch my balance, he stood too, and he was putting weight on his broken knee. The angel tears must have healed that too. But before I could comment, he punched me, and I stumbled backward. "What did you do, Dean?" he shouted. "I was about to get to see her again!"

He swung for my face again, but I got one arm up in time to block it. "It wasn't your time, Cass!"

"That was for me to decide!" The fury in his eyes grew and spread to the scowl on his lips. "You don't get to take me away from her!"

Now he charged me, barreling into me until I fell back on my ass. And then he climbed on top of me and pummeled me relentlessly with his fists. All I could do was keep my arms up to block as many punches as I could. But soon, my arms fell to my sides in exhaustion. Cass kept up the punches for a few more seconds and then stopped, possibly realizing he would kill me if he didn't.

He stood and walked away. Panicked that he would go right back to try and end his life again, I jumped up and headed toward him. I caught up with him and grabbed his arms in a hold from behind. He struggled with all his might, saying, "Let me go! I need to go back to her. I need her."

"Cass, stop!" I shouted. "I need _you_."

He still wriggled in my grip, but I sensed the fight draining from him. "You don't need me, Dean. I'm just a fuck-up."

I said softly in his ear, "But you're my fuck-up, Cass. And you're the best friend I ever had. And I know you heard me before. Do I need to say it again?" He didn't say anything, and I didn't wait for him to. "I love you. Please don't leave me."

He slumped in my arms. And then he walked away, and turned to face me. His face—so fallen and despaired, cried out to me to help him. "I can't do this, Dean." He shook his head. "I love you too, but I can't go on like this. I—"

Sobs overtook him, rendering speech impossible. Unable to just stand there and watch my best friend falling apart, I went to him and wrapped him in my arms. "We'll get through this Cass—just you and me and Sammy, okay?" His shoulders shook, and he leaned his head down into the crook of my neck. And now he picked up his weary arms and hugged me back. I pulled him into me so tight, shielding him from all the angst and the agony in the outside world. "I'm so sorry that Nora's gone. I know how lonely you must feel. I've been through it before, with Sammy, remember?"

He didn't answer, just kept sobbing on my shoulder.

Part 2. Castiel

I lost it that day—that's for sure. Before I decided to end my human life (and hence, my angel life as well), I had sat staring at nothing in particular for hours on end. I no longer wanted to watch TV or talk or even think. It was like I was living in an empty vessel. My body heavy and lumbering, I no longer felt anything—not sadness, not anger, certainly not joy. I couldn't see any reason to continue living—after all, I wasn't doing anyone else any good in this condition. It was just the opposite—I was beginning to be a burden on the people I loved.

When Dean left, I had to go to the bathroom. I picked up my crutches and limped in, and when I saw my face in the mirror, it startled me. A dead man's face stared back, just a skull with a couple of sunken eyes. That was when I knew what had to happen next.

I can't say I was happy about it, but there was a sense of relief that I no longer would bear the weight of all this anguish. And then anticipation, because I would soon be with the woman I loved again.

But Dean threw my plans into array with his unexpected arrival home. I was obsessed at that point, and couldn't stop myself from going through with it. Looking back, I now realize how selfish that was of me. It must have hurt him a lot, seeing his best friend slash his own throat. It's why I'll never do anything like that again—I saw the way his face fell, the desperation as he begged me to stop, and I never want to hurt him like that, ever.

But at the time, I was still swimming in a sea of grief, and not too happy that he had saved me from myself. That's when all those numbed-out emotions came out in a flood, and he let me use his shoulder to cry on.

Sobbing had an interesting effect. At first, it was intense and scary, and I wondered if my body going into convulsions could permanently damage me in some way. But over time, I noticed something different.

Maybe it was the physicality of the tremors, or maybe it was the mountain of tears released all at once, but suddenly something began to lift from me. I think it actually started when Dean told me he loved me. That opened a crack in my despair, one that slowly grew until it released everything that had held me down.

And then when I stood crying in his arms, I remembered how he had cried over my dead body, and it warmed my heart even more and made me realize that other people did care about me, and I wasn't just a useless, broken tool in Heaven's toolkit. No, here I was, an angel without powers, with broken wings and a broken knee, and Dean still loved me like I was a priceless jewel.

And that devotion and admiration washed over me with the tears like a blanket, giving me a safe place to let go of the bad memories I'd stashed inside my body. When he held me, I was lighter, and I knew he had taken some of my burdens from me, given me strength that I didn't have at that moment.

When my crying slowed, I didn't want to let go of him. But he didn't seem to be in any hurry either, and he clutched me while softly saying, "Cass, you've been through a lot. You've lost your powers, you've been tortured while dealing with the newness of pain, and you've lost someone you loved. And, oh yeah—you went through a pretty nasty detox. All these things, by themselves, can make you feel like the world is crashing down on you. But please believe me when I say, this too shall pass."

My sobs had slowed down to sniffles, and I pulled my heavy head off his shoulder and nodded. "Okay. It just…hasn't, not for weeks."

He slid his hand from my back to my shoulder, gripping it firmly. "I know, man. It takes time. But Cass, try to remember that me and Sam…we wouldn't be the same without you. You're not just hurting yourself when you…do what you did."

I wiped my cheek, and then my nose. "I know, Dean. I'm sorry."

He patted me now. "It's okay, Cass. And I'm going to be here to help you get better. Oh, and hey! Your knee is better now, so you can get up out of the house again. That should help."

I nodded. My head hurt, I guess from the crying, and my body was weak, but for the first time in weeks, I felt…better. The love of my life may be gone, but there was love for me here on Earth too, and that wrenched my heart open the rest of the way. And there was purpose as well—if only as a guardian angel to one pair of brothers. It was a big job.

I made eye contact with Dean. "Thank you, Dean. You're a true friend. And I'm sorry for hitting you."

"It's fine. You ready to stop playing Dr. Phil and get some ice cream?"

"Sure."

As we headed to the kitchen, he said, "But I have a question. If angels' tears are diamonds, why aren't we flooded with them? You cried before—"

"But I cried as a human before. I think that when I died, I converted back to my natural state, and that's when my last tear turned into a diamond."

He was spooning out the ice cream now, and he paused. "Oh. Well, dang. If you ever get your powers back, we'll have to work on making you cry. What does that? A good beating? Torture?"

I smiled, knowing that he was kidding. "Nope. Angels don't cry."

"But…"

"I know, technically, the angel tears…but I've never seen another angel cry before, and I never knew it was possible. Must be the unique set of circumstances. The probability of all those events occurring simultaneously would be exponentially—"

"Okay, okay, I get it. But what if we jammed your thumb with a hammer? That hurts real bad." He held up a finger. "Oh, wait! We could put an onion under your nose…"

"Nope."

He went on and on like that until late in the night, and we talked more than I had since I'd been thrown out of Heaven. And it felt good—warm, like hope. Like I was finally at home. Maybe being human wasn't so bad after all. Yeah, the lows were so far down they felt impossible to climb back up. But with that came joy and love that's boundless and full of grace. And knowing that, and with the help of my people, human life is more than just bearable—it's an adventure.

END


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